


Everything I Hold Dear Resides In Those Eyes

by Bluebox_Parchment



Series: Finding You 'Verse [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Castiel is Saved from the Empty (Supernatural), First Time, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Frottage, Hand Jobs, Human Castiel (Supernatural), M/M, Praise Kink, Smut, Tiny bit of Angst, Top Castiel/Bottom Dean Winchester, a little edging as a treat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-31
Updated: 2021-01-31
Packaged: 2021-03-18 02:20:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29110701
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bluebox_Parchment/pseuds/Bluebox_Parchment
Summary: Consciousness returns slowly. There's a solid weight pressed against his back, a heavy arm thrown over his waist and warm breath on the nape of his neck. Dean smiles into his pillow and laces his fingers between Cas', holding their hands up to his heart.[Cas is back from The Empty and he and Dean talk about them. Fluff and smut ensue. Sequel to Exit Wounds but can be read as a stand alone]
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Series: Finding You 'Verse [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1948945
Comments: 11
Kudos: 182





	Everything I Hold Dear Resides In Those Eyes

**Author's Note:**

> There are some references to the plot of Exit Wounds but it's not necessary to have read that to know what's going on. My only warning is there's a reference to some suicidal ideation (hence the angst tag) but no worse than the show-level allusions of Dean's behaviour circa s13's grief arc.  
> This is set in a canon divergence universe. Cas went to the Empty, Jack isn't God, Chuck is dead and Sam & Eileen helped Dean rescue Cas. Oh and Dean now owns his own roadhouse and real canon can take a long walk off a short pier :D
> 
> A big, big thank you to Brit and destielhoneybee for giving this a read through!

Consciousness returns slowly. There's a solid weight pressed against his back, a heavy arm thrown over his waist and warm breath on the nape of his neck. Dean smiles into his pillow and laces his fingers between Cas', holding their hands up to his heart. 

For the first time in his life Dean actually feels content. He can feel the rhythmic beating of Cas’ heart against his back, counts each inhale and exhale of breath. His family is safe and happy, there aren’t any cosmic assholes trying their hardest to screw them all over, and the weight of grief that had been trying to crush him into the dirt for the last six months evaporated overnight. 

So he basks in these minutes, staying there longer than he normally would because he’s waited so damn long for this. He finally feels safe, he can finally breathe easy and that should scare him, but for once he doesn’t give the fear the time of day.

If it weren’t for the insistence of his bladder, Dean’s fairly certain he’d just stay in this bed the entire day. He presses a kiss to Cas’ knuckles and extracts himself from under his weight. He smiles at the sight: a shock of dark hair on Dean’s pillow, wrapped up in Dean’s sheets and Dean’s clothes. No lines of worry to mar his brow or restless shifting. Just one hand seeking out the warm spot that Dean had just vacated, fingers twisting into the sheets.

On his ways back from the bathroom he swings by the kitchen. His place is exceptionally quiet and he frowns at the clock on the stove telling him it's nearly midday. There’s a note on the worktop written in Sam’s spiky scrawl letting him know that he, Eileen, and Jack are out at the Christmas Market in town and won’t be back until late afternoon. He smiles to himself as he putters around with the coffee pot, brewing a fresh pot and rolling the sleep from his shoulders.

When he returns to his room, Cas is but a mess of black hair and a single grumpy blue eye scowling out from under the covers. “That better be coffee,” he says, his voice all sleep rough and irritated. 

Dean smiles, his heart feeling lighter than it has in _years_. “I’ve been a bad influence on you,” he says, putting the two mugs of steaming Joe on the side table. He slides back under the covers, his cold feet seeking out Cas’ warmth.

“Mornings are the worst,” Cas says. “And your feet are freezing.”

“It’s afternoon.”

“I’ve only just woken up, ergo it’s morning.” Cas rolls over with a huff, turning his back on Dean, and Dean can’t help but smile. He shuffles forwards, no longer as terrified of being so close as he had been last night. He nuzzles his nose into the soft curls at the nape of Cas’ neck, slinks his hands under the Henley Cas wears to drag his thumb over the butter soft skin of Cas’ hip bone. 

Dean can feel the tension seeping out of Cas’ shoulders, his back pressed flush against Dean’s front. His mind is a swirl of hormones and warmth; a million things he wants to do to the man in his arms. He settles on a gentle, open mouthed kiss to the patch of skin just behind Cas’ ear. 

This moment feels fragile; something new and delicate made from something old and cracked. Through the gaps in the curtains, weak winter sunlight bleeds across the bedroom, dancing shadowy patterns across Cas’ cheeks and highlighting soft brown strands in his hair. The hand not settled on Cas’ hip moves into the softness of his hair, and Dean starts to card his fingers through it. He hums at Dean’s touch, the sound vibrating into Dean’s chest, making him smile. 

“Dreamt about this for so long,” Dean confesses into Cas’ shoulder, breathing in the smell of sleep and fabric softener and the unmistakable scent of smoke borne from magic. There’s a frightened part of himself - the part that shattered upon well-worn fissures every time he had watched Cas die - that still half expects this to be just a dream: a beautiful dream, sure, but a dream nonetheless. 

Cas trails his fingers across the back of Dean’s hand, trails a featherlight touch over the small scar across the knuckle of his ring finger. “I never dreamt,” Cas says softly. “Angels aren’t capable. But -” His voice falters, and it’s only the fact that he keeps stroking at the downy hairs on Dean’s forearms that staves off any interruption. “- but there was nothing I wanted more than this.” If it’s possible, Cas seems to sink further back into Dean, managing to eradicate the remaining few millimeters of space between them. “I never thought - I never dared hope I could have this.”

“You can,” he confesses, forehead pressed to Cas’ shoulder, eyes closed in an approximation of prayer. “We can.”

Cas hums happily, turning around in the circle of Dean’s arms, his nose bumping alongside Dean’s as he seeks out his lips. It’s possibly the sweetest kiss of his life; Cas’ plush lips are gentle against his own, careful in a way Dean’s never experienced. Just them in a cocoon of sleep-warm sheets and one another. “I love you,” Cas whispers straight into Dean’s mouth, and Dean chases the words with his own kisses, keeping them inside where they’re safe from the outside world. 

It’s Cas that begins to deepen the kiss, tongue curling alongside Dean’s to taste and take. It’s Cas that nudges Dean onto his back and Cas that clambers on top of him, a solid delightful weight that pins him to the mattress. And it’s Cas’ morning wood that lines up alongside Dean’s, stealing the breath right out of him, making his heart stutter against his ribs. 

He tries to rut against Cas, seeking friction, seeking _more_ , but Cas’ weight doesn’t budge. Instead all he does is suck Dean’s tongue into his mouth, quick and filthy. Fucking perfect. 

He’s beautiful, ethereal in the weak sunlight that halos around his head. His heart clenches at the sight, a pang of guilt and shame squeezes his gut, suddenly very much aware of all that Cas gave up just to be here, above Dean, messy and human.

But alive.

“Don’t,” Cas whispers as he looks down upon Dean like he’s looking at something beautiful, inspiring. Something worthy of the devotion of an angel. Dean doesn’t need to ask what Cas is referring to. Doesn’t matter that he gave up his grace, Cas still seems to know exactly what Dean is thinking regardless of not being privy to his thoughts or prayers any more. Dean squirms and Cas kisses him once more, following it with another, “I love you.”

And then he’s rolled back off of Dean, stealing the comforter as he goes, leaving Dean flushed and cold.

Cas lifts one of the mugs to his lips, humming a satisfied little sound, the steam ghosting over his cheeks. Dean props himself on an elbow and watches him. “You only saying that because I brought you coffee?” There’s no real bite to the deflection, even if he wishes he hadn’t said it. Sometimes life-long habits are hard to break. Instead of saying anything else equally stupid, Dean simply hooks his chin onto Cas’ shoulder and reaches around to lift his own coffee mug from the side table. 

Cas hums thoughtfully, shifting his weight back against Dean ever so slightly. “The coffee certainly helps your case.”

He tilts his head just enough to nuzzle behind Cas’ ear, delighting in the domesticity of the whole thing. This is something Dean never expected he’d get, let alone be allowed to keep, and the uncertain edge nestled in his gut is unlikely to go away anytime soon. But Cas’ weight is solid and warm, persistent and comforting, and Dean clings to it. All he wants is to wake up like this every day from now on.

“You’re thinking too much,” Cas says after several quiet moments.

Dean pulls a face which he’s not sure Cas can see at this angle. “ _You’re_ thinking too much,” he grouses. 

Cas’ laugh reverberates right through into Dean’s chest. He tips his head backwards, looks at Dean over his shoulder and smiles all warm and bright. “Talk to me,” he says softly, and Dean can’t help but remember a conversation in some backwater motel years ago where he’d asked Cas the exact same question and received the worst possible response. But this is now, not then, and as far as he’s concerned neither one of them have much desire to die right now.

Dean worries his bottom lip, parsing the words around until they feel easier on his tongue. “You don’t regret it?” Cas makes a non-committal hum so Dean leans forward, tracing a light finger across the thin pink scar - all shiny and new - that glints at the pulsepoint of his throat. 

Cas catches his fingers in his free hand, holds them tight and brings his hand to his lips, a feather-light kiss to his palm. “Never,” Cas says. 

“But-”

Cas sets his coffee mug down and turns to Dean, his hands seeking out Dean’s face. He doesn’t say anything, just leans forward and presses soft lips to Dean’s. “Human, angel, demon, god?” He punctures each word with another kiss, to nose, brow, cheek. “Heaven, hell, purgatory, whole other universes? An absurd number of cosmic beings? It doesn’t matter. I will _always_ choose you. I don’t care what form it takes, I don’t care where we are.” Cas pulls back, hands still cradling Dean’s face like he’s precious, and he’s starting to believe that to Cas, maybe he is. “It will always be you and me.”

“You gave up so much.” He’s not sure why he’s arguing. Years of self doubt, he supposes. Years of second guessing himself. Years of never getting what he wants, always waiting for the other shoe to drop. 

Cas’ gaze softens and he cards his fingers through Dean’s hair, tilting him forwards until he can kiss the crown of his head. “I did,” Cas says gently, and Dean’s thankful he doesn’t deny it. “But I gained so, so much more in return.”

A sob escapes him, completely without warning, the enormity of what Cas is saying, what he’s offering, more than Dean really knows how to process. Cas tugs the half-drunk mug of coffee out of his hands and he hears, rather than sees, the way the ceramic thunks down onto the side table. “This is real.” It’s not really a statement, not really a question, but somehow comes out sounding like both. 

Cas doesn’t entertain it with a response either way, just keeps his hands on Dean to ground him back to reality. And after a while, the fear begins to roll off his shoulders. His voice sounds vaguely detached when he finally speaks, “Just worried.” Cas doesn’t interrupt him, hands still cupping his face, thumbs stroking his cheeks gently. “Worried I’m gonna wake up and we didn’t pull you out. Worried I’m gonna find out this was just a dream. That losing you - _again_ \- was just too hard for my brain to deal, so it cracked.”

There’s a sadness in those blue eyes that Dean can’t bear to see, so he leans forward and presses a soft kiss to Cas’ lips.

“You saved me.” It’s a whispered confession, as reverent as prayer, and it feels holy in a way that only Cas can provide. “I’m here.” His broad hands slide through Dean’s hair, along the column of his throat, across his shoulders. “You’re not crazy, Dean.”

“Started thinking I was.”

Cas pulls back slightly, just enough to look him in the eye, and the concern there is a living thing, unavoidable. “How do you mean?”

Dean shoots a look up at the popcorn ceiling, eyes losing focus. “Thought I was seeing you, _hearing_ you. Like after Purgatory but worse. Cause it never stopped. Even when I was dreaming, just kept getting worse.”

He hears Cas take a shaky breath, and then his hands are sliding down the line of Dean’s arms, fingers tangling together. “I-I dreamt of you too.” He runs a thumb idly over Dean’s knuckles, an absent-minded gesture, soothing, grounding. “That’s all the Empty really is. A ceaseless stream of torment. All your faults, all your failings. The people you hurt, the people you failed to save. It’s an excessively cruel form of torture. Trapped in your own mind, acting out every bad decision. I- I mean you saw,” Cas says, his voice suddenly thick. “Playing through what Naomi made me do to you in that Crypt.”

Dean looks down to find Cas’ eyes trained on their joined hands. He hates how fresh those memories are, how vividly he’d been reminded of the pain of his bones breaking under Cas’ fists; shattered at the altar of Cas’ feet, his blood a supplication upon the dust. It was like getting trapped inside a nightmare you could never wake up from, because it wasn’t fabricated from the horrors of his subconscious; it was one hundred percent real. “When -” he clears his throat, gives Cas’ fingers a squeeze. There’s something niggling in the back of his mind that he wants to know the answer to. “When I first showed up, you… you didn’t really think I was there. Not at first. Not the Naomi thing,” he adds quickly, as Cas’ face shoots up whipsharp. “With…” Fuck. His throat closes up. It’s been well over a decade since Sam destroyed the demon that had broken Dean in hell, but his voice fails him.

“Alastair?”

Dean flinches, hating himself. Angry with himself for not accepting that sometimes some wounds just run too deep to ever fully heal. Especially when they’ve been poked at so recently. Even though it had been the shadow of the Empty, it had smelt like him, it’d felt like him, and it certainly spoke like him too. Suppose you don’t have to be an angel or a demon for a pissed off cosmic being to torture you with all your worst hits.

But he remembers the way the Empty had crowded into his personal space, wearing the face and milk-white eyes of Dean’s living hell before Cas had hauled the thing away from him, saved him from that asshole _again_. And he remembers the way Cas had refused to look at him, had barely glanced in his direction until the Empty had all but made him.

“It liked to toy with me,” Cas says. “It knows everything about any being that comes to it. All their deepest fears, all their worst moments. The good too.” Cas lifts his free hand up to drag fingers through Dean’s hair. “Afterall, the first time I was there it tried very hard to keep me. Convince me that there was nothing back on earth for me. Twisted every anxious thought and tried to tell me they were true. 

“And when it took me this time, it knew you were the reason I had found my happiness.” It’s not an accusation, but it still lances through Dean’s chest like one. “I should never have made the deal to begin with but-”

“It doesn’t matter now,” Dean says firmly, squeezing Cas’ fingers. “Besides, I already told you, I understand why you did it.”

Cas nods, eyes downcast once more. “Sometimes it showed me... fabrications.” His voice stutters, almost like he doesn’t want to go into detail, but then he looks up, locks those baby blues to Dean’s. “It falsified memories, nightmares. All of them you. So much pain and anger. The betrayal you felt towards me for the deal to begin with. For keeping my love from you for so long, and denying you it in the cruelest way imaginable. So I thought… I thought that was all it was, when I found you there with Alastair. Just another faked scene, built upon from Hell. But then I looked at you and… I saw your _soul_. Just like the first time. The brightest, most beautiful thing in the darkest place imaginable.”

The flush that spreads across his cheeks is hot and glowing within an instant. He wants to make a quick joke, a knee-jerk quip like, _I bet you say that to all the guys_ , but the words die on his tongue. Instead, he swallows thickly, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth and distinctly _not_ looking at Cas.

“Sometimes I thought I saw your soul, but it was like looking through glass, all distorted and dulled. I assumed it was the only way the Empty could mimic it.”

Dean’s eyes flicker up then. “What do you mean _assumed_?”

Cas’ breath hitches. “The bar downstairs. _Your_ bar. I dreamt of it.”

And where a minute before Dean had felt warm and flushed, he now feels ice cold, his stomach dropping out. “Cas-”

“In the Empty I just thought it was Michael’s dream world for you, but…” Cas’ eyes trail over to the bedroom door, intent upon seeing beyond the wood. “Please-” He clears his throat, sounds wrecked, and when Dean looks at him there are tears pooling in his eyes. “Please tell me you didn’t try to kill yourself.”

There’ve been many times in his life when a supernatural being has tried to squeeze the life right out of Dean’s heart, but none of that comes close to the sharp pain that shocks through his system at Cas’ words, at the teary-eyed look on his face. “You _were_ there,” he finds himself saying, his voice sounding strange to his own ears, like they’re full of water.

Cas is looking at him with eyes wide and glassy in a mixture of horror and terror. “No,” he breathes. “No, that wasn’t real. Please tell me that wasn’t real.”

“Cas-” he starts and then falters. What exactly is he supposed to say? 

“It _can’t_ be real.” Cas is running a nervous hand through his hair, tugging on the tresses. 

Dean snatches up that errant hand and holds it tightly, tracing a thumb over the swell of Cas’ shaking palm. “I’m not going to say it was okay,” Dean says, eyes downcast. There’s a bubble of shame in his gut, something that’d not been there since that night, and he clutches Cas’ hand to stop the tremors that threaten to break him apart at the seams. “It was stupid. And selfish.”

“Dean-”

“I just - I couldn’t - I just wanted it to stop.” Dean can’t find it in him to even look at Cas, simply drops his forehead to Cas’ shoulder and clings to him for dear life. “Never was a smart drunk.”

Cas’ other hand comes to rest on the crown of Dean’s head and slowly, so very slowly, he begins to card his fingers through Dean’s hair. “It shouldn’t have been possible,” Cas says finally, his voice wrecked and barely more than a whisper. 

“You saved my life that night,” Dean says, looking up at Cas through his lashes. “You were really there.” Moments from the last few months play over in his head, snatches of dreams and moments where he was sure he could see and hear Cas haunting him.

“It can’t have happened. I was _dead_ ,” Cas tells him, still running his fingers through Dean’s hair. “But I…” He swallows thickly, his hand stilling, fingers trailing down Dean’s jaw to notch his chin up a little higher. “I carried you,” he confesses. “I was able to make you sleep and then carried you through the bar to the back room.”

“Yeah, uh. I might’ve been staring down two bottles of whiskey that night but-” He wets his lips, his eyes darting between Cas’. “All of that happened. It definitely happened.”

Cas doesn’t seem to know how else to respond to that, just gathers Dean into his arms and holds him tight. Dean closes his eyes and burrows his face into the crook of Cas’ neck. He smells warm and soft from sleep, of bitter coffee and _life_ , and Dean wants to get closer, somehow, never wants to let him go ever again.

“I am so sorry,” Cas whispers after a short while, words muffled in Dean’s hair. “I am so sorry that I hurt you so much.”

“What?” He pulls back, hands trailing from Cas’ back to rest on his hips.

“Leaving you,” he says. “Letting the Empty take me. I- I wanted you to live. I wanted you to find happiness. I-” 

“Hey,” Dean says, cupping Cas’ face in one hand. “I _am_ alive.” He ducks his gaze until Cas can do but one thing: look at him. “ _We_ are alive. And we’re _free_ , Cas. No more cosmic bullshit, no more strings to yank us around.” He smiles then, and adds, “And happiness, Cas? I got that in spades.” Cas blinks once, twice, makes no comment. Dean rolls his eyes, tacking on, “I’m talking about you, dumbass.”

Cas’ bottom lips trembles and then he’s huffing out a laugh. Dean can feel his cheek heating under his palm. It’s a beautiful sight. 

“You saved my life that night, Cas.” He rests his forehead to Cas’ shoulder and takes a deep, steadying breath. A couple of seconds pass at most and then Cas’ head is tilting, resting atop Dean’s.

“I still don’t know how,” Cas says, voice muffled by Dean’s hair.

Dean presses a kiss to the exposed skin peeking out from the neck of Cas’ sleep shirt, and noses under his ear, delighting in the shiver that wracks through Cas. “I got a theory.”

“You do?”

Dean stops his gentle kisses, pulls back and frowns at Cas. “First of all: no need to sound so surprised. Second: rude.”

There’s a coy smile dancing behind Cas’ eyes but it’s nowhere close to playing on his lips. Dean’d be impressed if he wasn’t so infuriated. “And third?”

“‘ _Dean and I do share a more profound bond_ ’,” he quotes, pitching his voice so low he sounds like he just gargled gravel from the parking lot.

And that’s it. Cas breaks. His laugh punches out of him until his nose scrunches up and he tips his head back. So fucking beautiful. “I don’t sound like that.”

Dean laughs too and presses a sloppy kiss to Cas’ cheek. “Sorry, buddy, but you really do.”

They lapse into a companionable silence, still wrapped around one another. “There are things - dreams I had whilst in the Empty.” Cas has that faraway look in his eyes again. “Some were memories, others - like that night - I thought they were just the Empty trying to torment me.”

“But now?” 

Cas bites his lip. “Were you set upon by four demons down in the bar?”

Absently, Dean’s hand comes up to rub against the back of his head. Even though the bloody lump has gone, the memory still remains. “I didn’t see you then,” he says by way of answer. 

Cas leans over and presses a gentle kiss to the swell of Dean’s bicep. “You worked very efficiently.” His lips are as hot as a brand even through the fabric of his t-shirt. 

He makes a non-committal noise, tilts his eye towards Cas and tries to work his tongue around the question that chokes him. He draws his bottom lip between his teeth and settles on a different question instead. “Were there, uh, any others?” _Tell me you were there on that dock with me_ , he adds to himself. 

“You were dreaming of the night the Empty took me-” and Dean’s breath catches in his lungs. “-you told me to keep my pride.”

“Yeah.” His voice sounds strange, little more than a whisper. He can barely keep his eyes open. “Yeah that - uh. Yeah.”

Cas lapses into silence and Dean chances a look at him. His fingers are playing with a loose cotton at the hem of his Henley. “There was a dock,” Cas says, and Dean thinks he stops breathing. “Sunset. I thought - at first I thought - well. It was just a bastardization of the time I had tried to warn you about Heaven’s machinations to bring about the Apocalypse. The first time since meeting you that Naomi sunk her drill back into my Grace. I thought it was the Empty toying with me in the worst way, by showing me something we could never have.”

In spite of himself, Dean feels his lips twitch. “I’m gonna have to take you fishing,” he says gently. “And buy you a pair of aviators.”

The smile that breaks across Cas’ face is blinding. “You called me beautiful,” Cas says, lifting his fingers to his lips. “You kissed me.”

“You are,” Dean says, his face glowing with heat. “I did.”

Cas turns then, climbing into Dean’s lap and seeking out his mouth with his own. “You are a marvel,” Cas says between open-mouthed kisses. And Dean just rides through the feelings, lets them happen. His emotions have gone through such extremes within just the last few minutes his head is spinning. But there’s one thing that settles in him: the thought that he had spent so long - _too damn long_ \- thinking he couldn’t have this, not ever. Yet here Cas is, wrapped around him, warm and vibrant with life, just pouring out his love like a river unable to be contained. Dean fists his hands into the hem of Cas’ shirt, pulls him closer and drinks him in. He can have this. They can have this.

“I love you,” Dean tells him and the only surprise he feels is at just how easy it is to say. Cas whimpers into his mouth, a tiny little moan at the three words that has Dean chase after it again. He inches Cas back just a little, looks him right in the eyes and repeats it. “I love you.”

Cas looks a sight. Hair mussed, lips kiss-swollen, face warm and delightfully flushed. And those eyes. Those beautiful blue eyes. “I love you,” Cas tells him, and he looks so free as he says it, so weightless. Dean can’t quite believe he’s the one that put that look on his face.

He leans forwards, forehead to the centre of Cas’ chest and feels Cas’ hands slowly start carding through his hair again. There’s a physical ache in his chest, curling under his ribs like a blackhole at the centre of him. It’s not pain, not in the slightest. It’s a yearning so strong for the man in his lap that it almost feels like dying. 

Cas’ breath is warm on the shell of his ear as he holds Dean to his chest. “Tell me what you need,” he says, all soft spilling down right into Dean’s gut and he knows - _God_ he knows - that in this moment Cas will give him anything he asks for.

He tips his head up, heavily drags his face against Cas’ stubble and replies, “You. Just you.”

Cas tips his face towards him then, fingers still slowly carding through his hair as he angles Dean’s jaw until he slots their mouths together, tender and sweet. “You have me,” he whispers, right between Dean’s parted lips. “You’ve always had me.”

Those words strike harder than any blow, leave him breathless in a way Cas’ professions of love can’t even touch. He knows down to his bones that it’s true. Perhaps there is a black hole inside of Dean that has left him craving for decades, but with Cas it’s like something shifts. A sudden memory from when he was a kid sparks in the back of his mind: that sometimes two black holes can collide and birth a new universe between them. So damn lonely for so damn long, and now...

Dean’s tongue dips into Cas’ mouth, desperate to taste, chasing the birth of stars behind Cas’ teeth. “Want you,” Dean says, his hands scrambling under the hem of Cas’ shirt.

With a filthy roll of his hips, Cas grinds down into Dean’s lap. “Okay,” he says, mouth wet and open against Dean’s. “Okay.” Cas’ hands rove across Dean’s back; smooth down the fabric of his shirt before reaching the hem and hoisting it up and over Dean’s head. “Okay,” Cas says again, almost as if it’s a mantra to settle himself and Dean squeezes his hands to Cas’ hips, grounding the pair of them. 

And then Cas is pulling him back towards him, his mouth hot and claiming, blunt nails digging into Dean’s bare shoulders. Dean’s dick throbs at the sensation - Cas is seemingly everywhere all at once - and he chases each kiss, each warm inch of Cas’ exposed skin.

Cas pushes him slightly, tilting him back until he’s flat on the bed with Cas hovering over him, his arms bracketing Dean as he continues to curl his tongue behind Dean’s teeth. His knee slides up between Dean’s legs, parting them until Cas is slotted right between them bringing their groins together with a delightful roll of his hips. Idly, Dean wonders where Cas learnt to behave like this, learnt how to touch in a way that consumes, kiss in a way that undoes him with every sweep of his tongue into Dean’s mouth. His hands fist into Cas’ dark tresses as he fucks his own tongue up past Cas’ lips. He guides Cas’ weight down on top of him, revels in the feel of their bodies pressed together, in the slide of bare skin and tented fabric, in the scratch of stubble under his palm and the wet warmth of Cas’ increasingly frantic kisses. 

With every ounce of willpower in him, Dean pulls back briefly, enough to let them both suck in great lungfuls of air and rests their foreheads together. Cas’ eyes are blown, barely a ring of blue remains around his pupil and there’s a wild sort of wonder to them that cracks Dean open right down his chest.

He presses a gentle kiss to Cas’ lips before shifting them, rolling Cas onto his back so he's cradled in the rumpled sheets of Dean’s - no, _their_ \- bed. Dean gazes down on him and can’t fight the smile that pulls on his lips. “What are you thinking?” Cas asks softly, dragging his hands up the broad planes of Dean’s back.

He bumps their foreheads together, dragging his nose against Cas’ before seeking out his mouth once more for a tender press of lips. “Love you,” he whispers, nosing against Cas’ jaw, delighting in the hitch of breath his words elicit. He sucks a kiss into the hollow of Cas’ throat, drags his lips to the spot just under Cas’ ear, delighted by the full-body shiver it wrings out of him. “Gonna show you.” He presses an open mouth kiss to the thin pink scar that lines Cas’ throat, the proof that what they had gone through together in the Empty had really happened. “Let me show you.” Cas’ pulse leaps beneath his lips and he smoothes against it with his tongue. He will treasure this one small scar for the rest of their lives. It may be a simple mark but it’s the best evidence that all those years ago Cas really had been right: good things do happen. 

He takes his kisses lower, leaving a wet trail across Cas’s shoulders, over his heart, across the Enochian still inked into the skin of his ribs. Dean’s heart drums a rapid tattoo in his chest, and he can’t help himself but lean back up to slot his mouth to Cas’ once more; his lips, a drug.

A kiss to the crease of Cas’ elbow, a graze of teeth across the jut of Cas’ hip bone. He guides Cas’ ass up slightly, just enough to ease the pyjama pants down, exposing more skin for Dean to worship, to taste. And it should frighten him, Cas naked under his hands, but it doesn’t. It’s the most natural feeling in the world. A hand to one of Cas’ ankles as he nuzzles his nose into Cas’ knee, presses a tender kiss to the sensitive skin there and can’t fight the smile that crosses his face when Cas shivers at the touch. 

He alternates which leg he presses his kisses to, dancing his fingers lightly up trembling thighs. And because he wants nothing more than to drag this out, adorn Cas’ body with every ounce of love it’s been denied for millenia, Dean ignores Cas’ cock - mouthwateringly hard and leaking - and kisses his way back up Cas’ chest until he can suck a bruise to Cas’ collarbone. 

Cas’ hips buck up into Dean’s as he rolls his weight into his shoulders and drags Dean’s mouth to his. His tongue sweeps into Dean’s mouth and Dean sucks on it, a promise of what’s to come, and Cas can do nothing but whimper, “ _Dean_ ,” straight into his open mouth.

“I love you, Cas,” he breathes, his hands trailing patterns down Cas’ sides. And he knows where this is going, knows the route he’s planning to take even if he’s not got a roadmap to follow. It’s been so long since he’s slept with anyone, let alone blown them, but just the thought of it pools warmth into Dean’s gut, ricochets excitement up his spine.

He tightens his grip on his hips and sinks back down lower; a kiss over Cas’ heart, to the sensitive bit beneath his ribs, the soft skin below his navel, the juncture of groin and thigh, before finally, _finally_ , wrapping his lips around the head of Cas’ cock and swirling his tongue.

Cas keens into his touch, his breathing coming in heaving gasps, and the sounds he’s making go straight to Dean’s dick. There’s a pulse of pre-come leaking onto Dean’s tongue that he laps up before sinking right down until Cas’ cock is pressed right to the back of his throat and fuck, _fuck_ , it feels so good. The stretch, the warmth, the weight of it has Dean humming in delight, his own cock leaking against his boxer briefs.

His hum has Cas’ hips giving an involuntary twitch up into the wet heat of Dean’s mouth which only succeeds in making Dean smirk, relaxing his throat and letting Cas sink even further into his throat. 

“ _Fuck_ ,” Cas breathes, an unholy prayer for Dean’s ears only. His thighs tremble against Dean’s chest, clearly struggling to reign in his desire to just fuck Dean’s face with reckless abandon. And the hazy, lust fueled part of Dean’s brain wants nothing more than to let him, to brace his arms, let Cas tangle his hands into Dean’s hair and just have at him, but no. Dean drags up, tongues at the slit again before sinking back down, creating a punishing rhythm that has Cas’ hands twisting into the sheets, petting at Dean’s face and carding through his hair. 

Sinking down over and over, he glances up through his lashes, locking his gaze with Cas. There’s barely a sliver of blue now, his pupils somehow dilated even further. With a whimper, Cas’ head falls back against the sheets, gasping Dean’s name repeatedly.

And god, Dean wants to make Cas come like this, wants to feel him flood his mouth, but he also knows that can wait. What he wants, more than anything right now, is to watch Cas fall apart up close. Reluctantly, he pulls off Cas’ beautiful cock and crawls back up Cas’ body, tongue sweeping across Cas’ bottom lip. And, fuck, Cas opens for him so easily, sucking his tongue into his mouth to taste himself. 

With shaking hands, Dean pushes his boxers down, kicking them off the end of the bed before dropping his hips down. The first brush of his cock against the saliva-wet skin of Cas’ almost has him coming right there. He breathes hard through his nose and guides Cas’ mouth back to his own.

And before he can do much else, it’s Cas’ hand that slides between the pair of them, wrapping his fingers around them both and giving an experimental pull. “Oh fuck,” Dean hisses, dropping his forehead against Cas’ shoulder, his eyes darting down to watch their cocks sliding together. On instinct, he moves his own hand over Cas’, desperate to feel the pair of them. Their fingers tangle together, their bodies find a sweet rhythm, and Dean’s breathing is a desperate, needy sound, panted raggedly into Cas’ waiting mouth.

Cas’ free hand slides from its position tangled in Dean’s sweaty hair, caresses down the hollow of his throat before dropping still further until he’s white knuckling to Dean’s left bicep. And it’s too much, much too much, and it’s not enough, never enough, as with one final drag of their hands, Dean’s orgasm punches out of him. Hot white spurts spill over Cas’ stomach and chest and he’s so hypersensitive that his toes are curling, but it doesn’t matter, nothing else matters, he just keeps their fists locked around their cocks, jerking them both still, fucking his tongue into Cas’ mouth and saying, soft as a prayer, “Come for me, Cas. Let me see you.”

He drops his forehead to Cas’, half desperate to look down and watch as Cas comes on Dean’s cock, his own release mixing with Dean’s on his skin, but he doesn’t. Instead he keeps his eyes locked with Cas’ as his whole body pulls tight like a bow string before it snaps and Dean swears he sees a supernova explode in the blue-black of Cas’ eyes as he spills onto their skin. “I love you,” Cas says, his breath panting, fever-hot, against Dean’s cheek. “I love you. I love you.”

Dean does his best to hush him, repeats the words right back in amongst soft, sweet kisses. And slowly, Cas blinks back to him, chases each kiss. “Hey,” Dean says, unable to keep the smile from his face. 

Cas returns the smile with his own. “Hello Dean,” he says, and Dean huffs a laugh.

“You good?”

Cas’ hand loosens its grip on his bicep, tenderly tracing his fingertips into Dean’s skin. “Very.” He leans up and captures Dean’s lips once more.

Content, Dean tips sideways back onto the mattress, his arm no longer able to hold him up, his knees protesting from the position he’d kept them in. He rolls his head across the pillow, unable to keep yet another smile from his face. “This, however,” Cas says, trailing his fingers through the come cooling on his chest. “This is less pleasant.” 

Dean chuckles, but can’t help but bite his lip at the sight of Cas’ fingers trailing through the mess they’d made. His dick gives a half-hearted twitch, and if Dean wasn’t feeling quite so fucked out right now, he might’ve leant back over to help clean Cas up in a much filthier way. There’s come on his own fingers and a few splotches marking his chest, but Dean pays them no mind. He rolls over and plucks the box of tissues from off the nightstand and starts to clean the pair of them up. But he pauses briefly, bringing Cas’ right hand forwards to gently suck each digit clean. “ _Dean_ ,” Cas growls, something feral glinting in his rapidly dilating eyes. 

Before Dean’s smile can grow too cocky, Cas’ fingers had hooked into Dean’s jaw, lightly drawing his mouth back in for a bruising kiss. Dean sinks into it, naked bodies pressed up close, trading lazy kisses. 

But the mood is broken when Cas’ stomach gives an audible grumble. Dean laughs, kisses Cas’ cheek sweetly and says, “C’mon, Sunshine. I’ll make pancakes.”

~~~

The smell of cooking bacon must’ve enticed Cas out of the bathroom without flicking on the shower because it only takes thirty seconds from the chain flushing for a pair of hands to sink into the skin of Dean’s waist and Cas’ chin to hook over his shoulder. “Thought we were having pancakes,” Cas mumbles, nosing at Dean’s neck. 

“We are,” he says, waving his spatula to the other pan where two fluffy pancakes are browning before turning his attention back to the sizzling pan of bacon directly in front of him. “Pancakes _and_ bacon. And just because I love you, you get to have maple syrup as well.”

Cas hums in delight against Dean’s skin, the vibration raising gooseflesh down his arms. Cas presses a gentle kiss at the juncture where neck meets shoulder and then he’s moving away. Dean glances over his shoulder and watches as Cas starts frowning at the coffee maker. With a dopey smile Dean goes back to the stove, fixing more pancakes and more bacon for them both.

They sit side by side at the breakfast bar and Dean finds it incredibly difficult to keep his hands from Cas; a brush of hands when picking up their coffee mugs, the bumping of shoulders and the lingering squeeze of a knee. Something soft and warm curls up under Dean’s sternum, as he reminds himself once again that he can have this. 

“I’d forgotten how good it was to taste food,” Cas tells him after devouring the entire plateful.

“No more molecules?”

“Nope,” Cas says with a bright smile. “You’re a very good cook, Dean.”

A flush crests across his cheeks. “They’re just pancakes, Cas.”

There’s an unreadable expression in his eyes that has Dean leaning away. But Cas won’t be dissuaded because he leans into his personal space and presses a salty-sweet kiss to his lips. “Enjoy the compliment.”

He hops down off the bar stool, stretching up towards the ceiling and exposing the skin of his stomach. Dean’s mouth goes dry. “Shower?” he asks, his voice sounding strained even to his own ears.

A crease appears on Cas’ brow. “Are you saying I smell or-”

Dean stumbles to his feet with such speed he almost falls straight into Cas. “Or,” Dean says, licking his lips. “Definitely or.”

Cas bites back a smile and reaches his hand out to Dean. Such a simple gesture. 

He takes Cas’ hand.

~~~

The warmth of the water and the steam is making Dean feel more alive than he has in months. Well, that and the fact that he currently has the soapy hand of an ex-angel wrapped around his cock. He drops his head back against the tile, riding through the sensation of Cas’ thick fingers working him over. “Fuck, _fuck_ , Cas, fuck.”

“Good?” Cas asks, teeth grazing the swell of Dean’s collarbone and, because Cas is apparently a cocky bastard now that he’s human, Dean can feel the way his mouth smirks into the question.

His fingers scramble to the flesh of Cas’ forearms as pleasure sweeps through his gut and it’s embarrassing really, how quickly Cas has got him to this point. Because oh yeah, apparently Cas knows all about twisting his wrist just-so when he reaches the sensitive head of Dean’s cock. 

“Cas, _Cas_ ,” he moans, bucking his hips forwards. “Stop, man, stop. You’re gonna make me-” he huffs out a breath as Cas’ movements still. “You’re gonna make me come if you keep that up.” 

“I thought,” Cas says, puncturing the words with a drag of his lips up Dean’s neck, “that was the whole point.” And just to drive that thought home, he starts sucking a bruise into Dean’s pulsepoint. 

As Cas’ cock slides against his, reminding him delightfully of an hour ago, he accepts that yeah, that would definitely be a good idea. His dick gives a twitch against Cas’ hip, throbs in Cas’ loose hand, and he privately tries to argue with himself that trading steamy handjobs in the shower is a perfectly respectable second time. But…

He puts a hand around Cas’ wrist and eases his hand away from his cock. Surging forwards he darts his tongue into Cas’ mouth, quick and filthy, before kissing his way to Cas’ ear and whispering, “Want you in me.”

Under his touch, Cas stills. Dean pulls back incrementally, catching those blue eyes. “Unless you don’t wanna, which is-”

Cas breaks him off with a searing kiss, more teeth than tongue, and fingers fisted into Dean’s damp tresses, and a desperate whine escaping from the back of his throat. “Yes,” Cas says, trailing kisses towards Dean’s ear and rolling the flesh of his earlobe between those pearly whites. “I wanna.” A shiver slides down Dean’s spine and he fumbles to the right, twisting off the water.

It takes only a short amount of time for them to towel off and get back to the bedroom. They barely step out of each other’s orbit as they stumble from the bathroom; just a soft blur of hands and damp skin, wet kisses and backs pressed against any and every available upright surface in the hallway.

Cas walks Dean backwards into their bedroom, mouth a hot brand against Dean’s neck and fuck, he hopes more than anything that Cas’ll leave marks across his skin. The backs of his legs hit the bed and Dean falls backwards, drinking in the sight before him.

Cas is all toned, tan skin, a few rivets of water slipping from his hair down his chest and Dean salivates. If he doesn’t get back on the bed within the next few seconds, Dean thinks he might actually die. He holds out his hand, offering it for Cas to take. It’s needy as all hell, but as Cas steps between Dean’s parted thighs and tangles their fingers together, Dean finds he really doesn’t give a shit. 

Cas’ weight on him is perfect, is everything he’s ever wanted and more. The gentle slide of slick warm skin and feather light kisses ignites the blood in his veins. He feels completely swamped by Cas, his body, his hands, his mouth, are all everywhere all at once, and Dean ruts his hips up. Their cocks slide together again. 

Dean wants nothing more than to stay in this moment forever. 

Cas starts to kiss his way down Dean’s neck, sucks a bruise to the jut of his collarbone, keeps a tight grip on Dean’s hip. He presses reverent kisses to the anti-possession tattoo over his heart before rolling a nipple between his teeth. Dean feels Cas smirk against his skin as he shivers at the sensation. 

Dean tugs at Cas’ hair, pulls him back up his body to slot their mouths back together once more. “Lube’s in the top drawer,” Dean tells him between feverish kisses. 

Cas’ gaze grows darker, hungry, and he licks his lips as he pulls back, barely able to pull his eyes away from Dean, and moves towards the bedside cabinet. Dean shuffles back up the bed, anticipation ricocheting up his spine. He watches each slight movement of Cas’ body, the ripple of muscles under the skin of his back, the way they flex as he balances on the edge of the bed. 

And then Cas is back, moving with a speed Dean would’ve only ever expected from his angelic powers, body flush against Dean’s, arms bracketed either side of Dean’s head, mouth claiming upon Dean’s own. 

“I love you, Dean Winchester,” Cas says, grinding his hips down causing Dean to toss his head back at the sensation. 

“Fuck, Cas.” Every inch of his body feels fever-hot and tingly as Cas starts to pepper kisses down his chest. Dean has about half a second to prepare before the wet, hot heat of Cas’ mouth is sinking down his cock. “Fuck, _fuck_.” On instinct his fingers knot through Cas’ hair and he fights the urge to thrust up into Cas’ inviting mouth. Not that Cas would mind, he thinks, given just how deeply he’s taking him down. He groans, pulls on Cas’ hair and says, “Cas, buddy, repeating my earlier statement. Keep this up and I’m gonna come.”

By way of reply, Cas somehow relaxes his throat further and swallows around Dean’s cock. 

Before Dean can quite crest over the edge Cas has pulled off him with a wet pop. He pushes up to his knees, his eyes raking down Dean’s body with unhidden hunger. “You enjoy this,” Cas says finally, his fingers trailing patterns across Dean’s thighs. “You enjoy me bringing you close.” It’s not a question, but the way his brow creases and his head tilts slightly to one side - such an achingly familiar tic that has Dean’s stomach swooping - makes it seem like one. 

All he can do to respond is nod weakly, not that Cas seems concerned. He nuzzles Dean’s hip, drawing the skin up between his lips before laving over the flush of blood with his tongue. He looks down at the pink mark before dipping back and repeating the ministrations. Dean squirms at the sensation, raising a shaking hand to card through Cas’ hair. 

“Yours,” Dean hears himself say and Cas glances up at him, pupils blown with desire. There’s an uncharacteristically wolfish grin on his face that has Dean’s stomach swooping with delight.

“Yes.” Cas’ breath ghosts hot against the cooling saliva. “Mine.”

He settles back low, pressing gentle kisses into the soft skin of Dean’s stomach and thighs, whilst his fingers trail patterns down the crease of his groin and swell of his ass. He sweeps the feather-light touch of a single knuckle over Dean’s hole, noses just below his sac and draws his balls into his mouth one at a time, a slight draw of warmth that has his toes curling. 

A single finger starts tracing his hole, pressure just enough not to tickle, plenty enough to tease. Dean squeezes his eyes shut, coasts along every sensation, aware that it’s not enough but content to just place his pleasure in Cas’ hands. There’s a telltale click of the lube cap, Cas’ mouth still pressing lazy kisses to the inside of Dean’s thighs by way of distraction, and then that finger is back, cool and slick as it teases around his rim. Dean arches into the sensation, is met with a firm hand on his hip and the quick nip of teeth to his thigh. 

He’s pretty sure he’s making unintelligent noises, little whines in the back of his throat that he can’t contain. He screws his eyes shut tighter and then Cas is leaning back over him, kissing his cheeks, the bridge of his nose, his parted lips as he slowly - so achingly slowly - begins to work his way past the tight ring of muscle of Dean’s ass. “Dean?” he asks, voice low, barely a whisper. His hand stills, only up to his first knuckle. “Open your eyes for me.” It’s not a command, just a request, but Dean blinks his eyes open anyway.

Cas’ face is oh so close, gazing down on him with such adoration something inside of Dean feels like it’s breaking. “That’s it,” Cas says, smiling brilliantly, like Dean’d just accomplished something monumental. “Perfect.” He starts peppering Dean’s face with kisses again, just light brushes of his lips and softly spoken words of praise as he begins to move his finger again, pumping and twisting gradually deeper. 

Dean’s cock is leaking against his stomach, flush and aching, and he rolls his hips to seek some semblance of friction. There’s none to be found, but the movement draws Cas’ finger in deeper, fully inserted now and fuck fuck _fuck_ , it’d been far too long since he’d done this to himself, let alone let anyone else do it to him and he’d forgotten just how good that drag could feel. “Cas,” he moans, “Cas, Cas,” and he scrambles to draw Cas’ lips back to his own, to slide his tongue alongside Cas’ to taste and claim and be claimed in return. “ _More_.”

Cas draws his finger out slowly, dipping back once, twice more, before he moves away from Dean just slightly to dribble a little more lube to his fingers. Dean watches as Cas rubs over the slick digits with the pad of his thumb to warm it before he returns his fingers to Dean’s hole, probing lightly as he settles back close enough to kiss Dean once more. “Tell me to stop if it hurts,” Cas says, brooking no possibility for argument. 

Dean hisses at the slight burn but it doesn’t last long, quickly drips into pure pleasure and he can’t help but clench around those fingers and let out a breathy groan. Much to his surprise his moan is matched by one of Cas’ as he begins to bite bruises to Dean’s clavicle. He builds up his rhythm from before, adds a scissoring of his fingers with each twist that has Dean panting Cas’ name every other gasp. 

“You’re beautiful,” Cas tells him then, his thumb dragging over his taint that sends a shiver down Dean’s spine right into his toes. “So perfect.”

And he doesn’t think he believes that, but in this moment, with Cas’ fingers buried in his ass working him open, Cas’ mouth marking his shoulders up, he thinks this is perfect. This moment, them, just like this. “You are,” Dean says, voice thick and slow, brain trudging through molasses to form a coherent thought. 

Cas sucks Dean’s bottom lip between his teeth before asking what is possibly the hottest question known to man: “Do you think you’re ready for more?”

“Fuck,” is all he can manage, fisting Cas’ hair and holding his head in place to kiss him hard and messy. Cas takes that for the affirmation he was seeking and begins to work in a third finger. “Yes.” Dean drops his head back against the pillows, blinking up at the ceiling. “Yes yes, fuck.” The burn is more persistent this time, ebbs and brightens with each twist of Cas’ fingers.

He feels Cas shift once more, can no longer feel his breath on his skin, and Dean laments the loss of it for all of two seconds before Cas lets out a breathy moan that’d make a pornstar jealous. 

“You should see yourself,” Cas says, his voice shaking. “You’re taking my fingers so well.”

Dean wants to ask where Cas learnt to dirty talk like this, learnt to _fuck_ like this, but he’s not convinced his mouth would even be able to form more than single syllables right now, not when the only words that seems to want to pass his lips are, “Yes,” and “Fuck,” and “More. More. _More_.”

Something brightens behind his eyelids, a vibrant spark of white lightning through his entire system. He feels his cock dribble a stream of pre-come onto his stomach, thrusts his hips up, desperate for the slightest touch only to find none, and instead rocks down further onto Cas’ fingers. ‘ _Oh_ ,’ Cas gasps in awe, almost as surprised to have found Dean’s prostate as Dean is at the sensation that little bundle of nerves is igniting in his body. Cas shifts his fingers again and that same rush of light floods Dean’s body, static in his brain.

“More,” he growls, he whimpers. “ _More_ , Cas.” There’s a nudge of Cas’ fourth finger to his rim, a stretch and twist as Cas works it inside, pumps him full with deliberate thrusts just this side of pain-pleasure. And it’s not enough, not enough, not enough. He white knuckles his hand into Cas’ hair, somehow manages to focus his eyes onto Cas’ lust-heavy baby blues and clenches down upon Cas’ fingers as he whines, “ _More_.”

“Okay,” Cas murmurs, slowly extracting his fingers from Dean’s ass. The sudden emptiness has Dean clenching around nothing but Cas hushes him with a squeeze to his hip and a kiss to the center of his chest. 

It doesn’t take Cas long to settle back between Dean’s parted thighs, fingertips ghosting across hypersensitive skin as he shuffles closer til his knees press against the swell of Dean’s ass. And he should feel vulnerable, should feel too exposed but there’s that smile lighting up Cas’ face that makes it so easy for Dean to hook his ankles together and drag Cas even closer. Cas’ cock drags a trail of precome up Dean’s length and it feels just like sin. 

He rocks forwards experimentally a couple of times, silken skin rutting against silken skin and Dean squirms beneath him. Cas moves back on his haunches, barely dragging his eyes away from Dean’s cock as he fumbles for the bottle of lube and uncaps it again, slicking himself up more confidently than Dean would’ve given him credit for. Then again with the filth that’d started dripping from Cas’ tongue since waking up, Dean reckons he really shouldn’t be that surprised. 

Finally, fucking _finally_ , he feels the blunt head of Cas’ cock at his entrance and he kicks his feet flat onto the bed to leverage himself slightly to help ease Cas’ way. Sweat beads across his shoulders and brow as he bears down, slamming his head back into the pillows. “Fuck,” he breathes as he bites down hard on his bottom lip and looks back at Cas.

Cas who has one hand in a death grip on Dean’s hip and the other guiding his cock into Dean’s welcoming ass. Cas whose chest is flushed, as he watches the way he’s starting to disappear inside of Dean with something akin to reverence in his eyes. Cas who stifles a broken moan as he slides into Dean so fucking slowly, so fucking carefully, like Dean is something precious.

‘C’mon,’ he moans in encouragement. “Fuck, just like that yeah,” he adds, as Cas rocks his hips, dragging back out until his cockhead is tugging at Dean’s rim and then thrusting back in shallowly. “Cas. Cas. Gonna kill me.”

Cas’ head snaps up, eyes locking with Dean’s, a wicked smirk parting his lips. His tongue darts out to wet them, and Dean watches the movement, completely mesmerised, as Cas pulls out almost completely before pushing back again, just the tip, just to tease, apparently intent on killing Dean with that drag then. 

And fuck it. It might be the best sort of torture Dean has ever experienced. The tensing muscles in his thighs, the ache in his ass as he’s split open on Cas’ cock, the way his heart is pounding loudly in his ears. Rolls of pleasure rocket up behind his eyes with each gentle rock of Cas’ hips, punches his breath out of him in hard gasps. Fuck, fuck, too much, not enough. “Cas.” He hooks a foot around the swell of Cas’ ass to nudge him ever closer because he needs him, _needs_ , more than air, more than life. 

Fingers scramble against the soft skin of Cas’ hand as Dean reaches for the one clutching his hip. He tucks his fingertips around Cas’ wrist, an anchor in a sea of sensation for the pair of them. Cas’ eyes flutter closed, lashes fanning across those pretty pink cheeks as he pushes forwards with his hips, bottoming out with on final smooth thrust and he’s beautiful, so fucking beautiful Dean could cry.

They breathe. 

Cas blinks, those bright blue eyes drinking Dean down right to where they’re joined. There’s something unreadable on Cas’ face, like his whole world is shifting to just their bodies and this bed. In all fairness, Dean kinda gets it. 

Cas leans forwards, blindly seeking out Dean’s mouth with his own, one hand fisting into the sheets beside Dean’s head and the other framing Dean’s jaw with splayed and shaking fingers. Dean manages to loose his fingers from the sheets to instead run them through the mess of Cas’ hair and keep him as close as possible. He returns each kiss with one of his own, gently rolling his hips, experimenting with the sensation of Cas’ cock in his ass. Cas whimpers right into Dean’s open mouth and chases it with a breathy, “I love you.”

He can only respond with an open-mouthed kiss, too overwhelmed to even make a sound. He clings to Cas, fingers tugging on Cas’ hair and legs locked tightly around Cas’ waist. It’s like he can’t get close enough, wants to draw him ever-nearer. It dawns on him as Cas begins to fuck into him - slow but deep, tender but hard, barely pulling out before rocking back in - that he has never allowed himself to be this vulnerable before, never allowed anyone to see him, all of him, the good, the bad and the really fucking ugly. But Cas does. Cas always has.

Cas once held his bare soul in his hands, clutched it tight to his grace and saved him, and as his fingers trail patterns down Dean’s sides, card through his hair, stroke his neck and shoulders, Dean realises that he never _stopped_ saving him. Cas kisses his jaw, his ear, his brow, his nose, sucks a bruise to the hollow of his throat, drops his head down to place a kiss over his heart, back to his lips. Every press of his mouth is reverent, every brush of his lips is a prayer, and it breaks Dean open. 

There are tears threatening to fall from his eyes as he clings to Cas, babbling incoherently about _want_ and _need_ and _I love you_ , _I love you_ , _I love you_ just pouring right out of him with each roll of their hips. His cock weeps between their trapped bodies, chasing more friction than the position allows and he guides one of Cas’ hands there, desperate for more, desperate for _Cas_.

Their foreheads touch and their eyes lock as Cas makes a loose fist around Dean’s cock. He moans a broken string of words into the hollow of Dean’s throat, languages Dean’ll never understand, until he pants several hot breaths just below Dean’s ear and whispers, “My beloved.”

And that’s what does it. Heat zeroes in on his gut, his balls draw up and his orgasm punches out of him as he gasps Cas’ name, over and over. Tears finally start falling as he clings to him, riding through the waves of pleasure zinging through his system. With a stifled gasp, Cas’ whole body goes tense as he follows Dean over the edge.

They stay that way as they slowly come back to themselves. Cas’ arms tremble as he tries to lift his body back up, but Dean hushes him, tunnelling his fingers through Cas’ hair and holding him tightly to his body. He feels blissfully blank, nothing but euphoria and the weight of the man in his arms. His heart races against his ribs and he can feel Cas’ heart keeping time against his own. 

Eventually his voice returns to him, but all he can manage to say is, “Well. _Fuck_.”

“Yes.” Cas has softened and slipped out of him but he doesn’t move from where he lays sprawled across Dean’s chest. “ _Fuck_.”

“We should clean up,” he says, blinking up at the ceiling and not making a single attempt to move.

“We should’ve waited to shower,” Cas responds. His breath tickles Dean’s clavicle, cooling the sweat that clings to his skin.

Again, they remain resolutely in place. If Dean thought they could get away with it, he wouldn’t move from this spot ever again, regardless of the come cooling on his thighs and his stomach. 

Cas moves first, finally able to push up onto all fours, arms still bracketed around Dean’s head, hips still framed by Dean’s parted thighs, and he presses a chaste kiss to Dean’s lips. There’s so much love in his eyes when he looks down at Dean that it makes his stomach swoop. He feels himself flush like a middle schooler with a crush. “You good?” Dean asks him, and can’t keep the smile from his face.

“Exceptional,” Cas replies, a blush creeping across his own cheeks. “Are-”

Dean cuts him off with a kiss. “Best I’ve ever had.” He feels Cas’ smile rather than sees it.

“Oh?”

Dean swats his shoulder and Cas drops back on his haunches as Dean shimmies into a sitting position, ignoring the tenderness in his ass. “Fishing for compliments isn’t sexy,” Dean tells him, no heat in his words. He rolls off the bed, snatching up a handful of tissue to clean himself up. Fuck, he hates how lube gets fucking _everywhere_.

Cas cocks a brow in Dean’s direction and says in what Dean might have once termed his smite-y voice, “But watching how well you took my cock was.”

Dean’s face flames. “Jesus, fuck. _Where_ did you learn to talk like that?”

Cas doesn’t respond, merely knee walks across the mattress ‘til he’s right in front of Dean, eyes sparkling. “You always seemed to be under the impression I was completely naive.” His hands slide across the sweaty skin of Dean’s hips and pulls his body flush against his. 

“Don’t think I don’t remember the hooker, Cas.” 

“You could’ve had me that night,” Cas confesses, looking up at him through thick lashes. The glint in his eyes is nothing short of devilish. 

Dean’s cock gives a valiant twitch at the sight but remains soft. “You’re an asshole, you know that?” But there’s no real bite to the words, and he leans down to capture Cas’ soft lips with his own.

“This was better,” Cas says finally. 

Dean smiles, resting his forehead against Cas’. They’re going to have to shower again, clean away the sweat and come and lube. If Sam, Eileen and Jack weren’t gonna be back in a few hours, he’d probably chance it, but Dean’s not quite sure he wants to deal with Sam and Eileen’s silent discussion about how gross he and Cas are. “I mean, what else is twelve years of unresolved sexual tension for if not mind blowing sex?”

“What indeed.”

Dean kisses the smile from Cas’ lips, once again relishing the fact that he’s allowed to do this now. And because he’s a fucking sap, he pulls away, catches Cas’ eye and says once more, “I love you.”

Cas ghosts his lips to Dean’s and breathes, “And I love you, Dean Winchester.”

And, for just a moment, nothing else matters.

**Author's Note:**

> I've been working on this for months. So glad it's finally done but I highly doubt I'm going to be leaving this universe for long.  
> Song lyrics are from Power Over Me by Dermot Kennedy which is delightfully Dean and Cas :D
> 
> If you enjoyed this and feel like chatting with other deancas fans, come hang out on the Profound Bond discord server if you're over 18! We're a fun bunch :D  
> https://discord.gg/profoundbond


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